Lessons for a Cockroach
by whitetiger91
Summary: Sometimes, parents make mistakes, even with the best intentions.


_**This story was written for The Houses Competition, Year 5, Round One.**_

_**House/team: Gryffindor**_

_**Class subject: Defence Against the Dark Arts (Leader)**_

_**Story category: Drabble**_

_**Prompt: 3. [Event] Waking up with a cockroach on your skin**_

_**Word count: 994 (Google docs)**_

_**Beta: Crissie (secretfanficlover)**_

_**Warnings: Implied animal death.**_

_**Extra: Most parents have the best intentions for their children, even if it means lying about the important things and getting it wrong. Featuring a young (around seven-year-old) Barty Jr. Winky hasn't started, hence the dirty kitchen. Banjo and 'Marcelle' are made-up names.**_

_**Thank you for reading! :)**_

* * *

**Lessons for a Cockroach**

_"Everything will be fine, I promise."_

_Barty continued patting Banjo. The dog snuggled up against him, just like he always did. He turned to his mother and smiled._

_"See?" his mother said, trailing her fingers over his arm, soothing him._

_He nodded, and turned to pat Banjo—but his dog wasn't there. With a racing heart, he felt around the empty sheets._

_"Banjo? Banjo?"_

"Banjo?"

Barty sat up, his heart pounding. He looked around, hoping to see Banjo, but his dog wasn't there, nor was he in his bed. Instead, he found himself on the cold kitchen floor, and the memories of the night before flooded back.

He couldn't believe his parents had lied. He could still feel his mother's fingers running along his arm in a poor attempt to comfort him, to somehow make it right.

Looking down, he saw something else tickling his skin. "Ugh! Get off!"

He shook his arm wildly, trying to remove the small, brown cockroach crawling over it. It eventually flipped off and landed on its back.

"Yuck!"

The cockroach's legs flailed around as it tried to right itself. After a few moments of watching it struggle, he sighed and pushed it onto its feet.

"There you go, little buddy. At least someone will help you."

* * *

_**Two weeks earlier...**_

"Mum! _MUM!_"

"Bartemius, what have I told you about running inside? Sit down."

Barty ignored his father and ran straight to his mother. She put down her cup of tea and pulled him onto her lap.

"What is it, love?" she asked, rubbing his arm.

"Something's wrong with Banjo. He won't eat." His bottom lip quivered.

"He mightn't be hungry."

He shook his head. Getting off her lap, he tugged on her hand. "You have to come look. Quickly."

His father sighed. "You're spoiling him, Marcelle…"

Barty turned to him. "You come, too. You'll know how to fix Banjo."

"Who?"

"My dog!"

Standing up, his father pulled on his travelling cloak. "I have to get to work."

As he left, his mother squeezed his hand. "Don't worry; everything will be alright, I promise."

* * *

Barty watched the cockroach scuttle towards the bin. He sighed, remembering how much Banjo loved sneaking in for the scraps.

* * *

_**One week earlier…**_

"Why isn't he getting better?"

Barty stared at his mother, frowning. Banjo hadn't eaten all week, and he refused to play. All the brunet wanted was for him to get back to his old self; why wasn't he?

His mother sighed. "Well, love, he is getting pretty old…"

"He's twelve! That's only," he counted on his fingers, "half my age."

"Twice your age; that's old for a dog."

He turned back to the golden labrador, whose chest was rising up and down slowly. "But you can fix him, can't you?"

"I—"

"Or Daddy? Daddy's smart; he can do something…"

Looking back at his mother, he saw her open and close her mouth. When his eyes started watering, she gave him a small smile.

"Of course. Tell you what, I'll ask your father to get a special potion from work that might make Banjo feel better, okay?"

"Promise?" He held out his pinky.

"I promise," his mother said, locking her finger around his.

* * *

Barty swiped at the tears filling his eyes. He stared at the cockroach as it roamed around the floor, its little antennae twitching.

He bet it was never lied to...

* * *

_**Two days earlier...**_

"What time is it now?"

His mother sighed. "One minute since you last asked," she said. With a small smile, she added, "Don't worry, he'll be home soon."

Barty paused his pacing to ruffle Banjo's ears. "He better not forget this time."

"He won't."

As his mother spoke, he heard a loud crack! Footsteps then sounded on the stairs, and his father soon burst through his bedroom door.

"There you are. Marcelle, I've done it!" he said, grinning.

Barty smiled. "You got the potion?"

His father blinked. "The what?" When his mother cleared her throat, he said, "Oh, that thing. Um, hold on…"

He felt around in his pocket before pulling out a small phial filled with a clear liquid. Barty took it from him and hurried over to Banjo. His dog barely lifted his head, but when he tipped the potion into his mouth, he swallowed it.

"He's drinking, he's drinking!" he said, clapping.

"It's just wat—" his father began, but stopped himself and turned back to his mother. "Anyway, today…"

Barty didn't care that his father started talking about his work; he'd kept his promise and now his dog was better.

* * *

The tears wouldn't stop coming, even though Barty kept wiping them away. He stood and walked over to the cockroach, which had been joined by several others.

"It's not fair," he said, glaring at them. "You always have someone to help you."

* * *

_**The night before...**_

"It's going to be okay."

Barty tried to shake off his mother's hand as she trailed her fingers along his arm. He stepped forward to nudge Banjo awake, to make him open his eyes, but she held him back.

"This is ridiculous," his father said.

Barty pushed his mother's hand away and glared at his parents. "You promised! You promised you'd fix him! Banjo, wake up, come on, boy!"

His dog didn't stir.

"Come on, Banjo!"

His mother tried to hold him, but he backed away.

"You promised!" he repeated, his eyes stinging.

Before they could stop him, he sprinted from the room. He was never going back to those liars, never.

"Barty! Barty!"

* * *

"Barty! Where are you?"

Barty ignored his mother's calls. He continued glaring at the cockroach, his wet cheeks growing hot.

"Why don't I help you again, little buddy?" he said, leering over it. "I'll teach you something important."

It crawled around, oblivious to his presence, as though Barty wasn't worth paying attention to. It made his tears fall harder, and he lifted his foot over the cockroach.

Bringing it down, he squashed it. "You can't trust anyone."


End file.
